


Like a Wind

by codenamekitsune



Category: Kingdom Hearts (Video Games)
Genre: Apocalypse, Coffee Shop, College, Enemies to Lovers, Fish People, M/M, Yakuza, and maybe some other kh kids, but it's mostly akuroku, final fantasy characters may appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:47:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24851038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/codenamekitsune/pseuds/codenamekitsune
Summary: Destiny sought through the levels of time and creation. A bond that overcomes darkness and loss. Two souls bound together, for better or for worse.
Relationships: Axel/Roxas (Kingdom Hearts)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Like a Wind

**Author's Note:**

> This work was heavily inspired by a series of AkuRoku fanart. I have reached out to who I believe is the owner, and as soon as I obtain a link to the original source, I will include it here. Please reach out to me if you have any questions about this and don't see an update here!
> 
> Additionally, this is a fully planned out fic spanning seven chapters. Each chapter stands, sort of, as a standalone tale, though they will be stitched together and more enjoyable if you read them all. Some will be more dramatic than others, some more filled with fluff, etc. The first one is fairly heavy. I've included tags that reference later chapters, so you have a feel for what's to come. 
> 
> And now, I'm just going to let the story speak for itself.

  
  
  
  


The prince, was fair, but heartbroken. 

The knight, a constant at his side. 

The land, once fertile and blessed, lay sprawled beneath the castle walls decimated by fighting and disease. 

Around them these dangers sang, and with that mournful tune they railed against the darkness.  
  
  
  
  


_shuffle_

“I don’t want to be deemed a coward,” Roxas said, late one night when even the servants had retired. He and Axel sat in the great hall, the fires around them dying down to embers. The stone halls were quiet, with no laughter nor voice nor footfall. In the chilling air they could have been the last two men alive. 

“Sometimes when you know you’re outclassed, choosing not to fight is the right decision,” Axel said, sipping ale from a wooden goblet. He rolled the liquid through his mouth, enjoying the sweetness of it, unsure when he might have another chance to enjoy such a simple extravagance. “Not everyone is a fighter.”

“That’s easy for you to say. It comes naturally to you,” Roxas was similarly in his cups, with spots of color high on his cheeks. “Nothing comes naturally to me. My father reminds me of it often enough.”

Axel rolled his eyes, brilliant and glittering and green. “Your father has many outstanding qualities,” he said. “Compassion is not generally listed among them.”

Roxas sighed. His ale cup was empty, and for the moment he couldn’t summon the energy to refill it. Instead, he sighed again, deeper that time, as he folded his arms in front of him and rested his forehead against them. He didn’t see the way Axel looked at him, then, didn’t see the softening of his features. It was better that way, they both knew as much, even as they turned in the same steps of the same dance on yet another late night together. 

“Personally, I’d rather you stay here and leave the fighting to me and my men,” Axel said. “It’s safer that way, for you and for the kingdom. What would become of it if you were killed?”

Roxas groaned, reaching out to swat at the arm of his friend. He had begun the melodrama, and yet he didn’t want to entertain the thought of actually being seriously wounded in combat. It was too much. Axel caught his prince’s hand, both men feeling a hitch in their heartbeat when flesh met flesh. Both men holding tight to the sensation, and their silence. 

“I’m serious,” Axel said. “I can’t fight as well if I have to worry about you as I do.”

“My father will be on the field, if he can convince mother that is.”

“Well, you don’t have to concern yourself in that regard,” Axel said. “I’ll fight just fine with him on the field or off.”

“You wouldn’t try to protect your king?”

“Not _that_ king,” Axel said, and Roxas’s fingers tightened on his. “It’s all right. No one is here to overhear. And you’re so drunk you’ll question the memory come morning.”

“Hey!” Roxas said, looking at Axel, meeting that mischievous and beautiful gaze. “I haven’t even yet begun. Poor me some ale, knight.” 

Axel grinned. “You’re bossy, my lord,” he said, but he reached for the flagon of ale, tipping it so that the amber liquid sloshed into Roxas’s goblet. He did this with one hand, the other still twined in Roxas’s. This was a game they sometimes played, dangerous if discovered but all the sweeter for it. Neither would dare progress things further, because to do so would risk both status and honesty. They could afford to steal touches here and there, but to admit to wanting more was to court disaster.

“You like it,” Roxas said, watching his friend. “When do you think the fighting will begin again?”

Axel shrugged. “Difficult to say,” he said. “We’ve word the Northern armies are advancing. They’ll hit the Bastion first, and if they’re able to proceed from there, well, we won’t _let_ them proceed from there.”

“If they breech Hollow Bastion, would they be able to come all this way?”

“It’s possible, sure,” he said. “There have been scouts discovered within a two days ride from where we now sit. Which is disconcerting.”

“If they got that close, they could get closer, couldn’t they?”

“Theoretically,” Axel said. “Roxas, don’t concern yourself overmuch. My men are posted throughout this castle. You and yours will be safe. I swear on my life.”

“Swear it on something less precious to me, please,” Roxas said, quiet. “I don’t like to think of you dying for me.”

“I don’t like to think of me dying either, which is why I don’t intend to,” he gave Roxas’s hand one more gentle squeeze, and then forced himself to pull away. There was too much heat between them, amplified by the ale and the meal before it and the low flickering light of the fires. Far too much risk in what seemed a simple enough touch. Roxas might have decent self-control, but Axel knew himself well enough to know that he was not the same. Not where such desires were concerned.

“You’ll stay here at the castle for a few days at least, won’t you?” Roxas asked. 

“As things stand currently, yes,” he said. “Which is good, because I’ll need tomorrow to recover from the inevitable hangover from all this ale. You royals put too much honey in it.”

“I don’t know how it’s made,” Roxas said. “I don’t care enough to ask. What would you prefer? I’ve heard stories of some of the drink from the countryside.”

“It depends on where you are,” he said. “The company often makes the drink.”

“Well, then it’s no wonder I prefer what we serve here at home.”

“It’s all you’ve known, my lord,” Axel said, as Roxas lifted his head from the table and reached for his goblet. He didn’t know how long he could keep up with the knight. There was something of an experience difference, as well as a size difference. Yet another reason Roxas so feared the battlefield. He felt like a child among the men, despite that he himself was also a man grown. 

“Don’t pamper me,” Roxas said. “If you care for me, don’t.”

“Never,” Axel said, draining his glass. “Do you think if we remained here long enough, they’d come serve us breakfast?”

“I can have more food summoned at any time, if it’s what you desire.”

“Oh, there are many things I desire, but I’m told it’s not always best to get everything you want,” Axel said, reaching for the flagon. Roxas watched him move, his thoughts fuzzy, his body warm. He should pour for Axel, he thought, but the command got lost somewhere between brain and hand. “We may need more ale, though.”

Axel laughed, watching the way Roxas’s blue eyes focused on the simple motion of pouring the ale. They’d been deep in their cups together before, and Axel knew when Roxas was nearing his limits, could see the edges of his consciousness already beginning to dim. 

“I’ll have to pour you into your bed tonight, won’t I, my lord?” He asked, an edge to his voice that was part teasing and part promise. It was all Roxas could do to suppress a shiver. 

“Perhaps,” he said, sipping from his own goblet and missing the mark by a fraction. A trickle of ale ran down his chin. Axel, laughing softly, leaned in and touched his prince’s chin. The sweep of his thumb was brief, capturing the spilled liquid before Roxas could react. Then it was against his own lips. Roxas watched in silent confusion and lust as Axel licked the ale from his finger, green eyes on Roxas’s blue. 

“We’ve reached the point I think,” Axel said, tipping back the freshly poured goblet of his own. They both realized they walked a knife’s edge, one that often felt both deadly and intoxicating all itself. There were consequences to their actions, more so for Axel than for Roxas. The thought cut through some of the haze around Roxas’s thoughts, and he nodded. 

“You’re right,” he said.

“All good things must come to an end,” Axel said, rising to his feet and offering Roxas a hand up. The smaller man was unsteady on his feet, and Axel had to stoop to get an arm around his waist. “Oh, what will I do with you?”

“Difficult to say,” Roxas said, smiling as Axel helped him to navigate the long hall. 

There was no one to see them tottering through the castle, climbing the stone steps to the royal suite. The servants were asleep, the guards relaxed at the late hour. The castle was quiet, and the two men did not lend their voice to echo through the halls. They climbed the stairs in silence, Axel with his arm around Roxas’s waist and Roxas with his arm wrapped tight around the taller man. It was an arrangement they navigated easily enough, having done it more than once in their long history. Axel was smiling as he helped his prince up the stairs and to the long hall that housed both the king and queen as well as his friend. 

He froze two steps into that hall, his instincts blaring a sudden warning. The air was too still, almost heavy with dread and disaster. He could not pinpoint it, could not identify it aside from a familiar sensation of impending danger, of catastrophe already come to pass and seeking to propagate. 

“What’s…?” Roxas started, but was cut short by a hiss through Axel’s teeth. 

“Quiet,” Axel said, the whisper sharp as he stepped forward, his motion no longer dampened by the ingested ale. He moved with purpose, all but lifting Roxas from the ground as he crossed to the heavy wooden door that marked Roxas’s room. He left Roxas leaning against the wall as he stepped to the door. Axel pressed against it for a moment, listening. The wood was thick, but he heard nothing behind it so he pushed the door open, slow, ready.

The room was empty, sparsely decorated for a royal’s suite. There was a bed in the center, an open window, and a pair of plush seats in front of a fireplace which glowed with dying embers. Axel grabbed Roxas again, pulling him through the doorway. Axel was calm, but he could feel Roxas’s heartbeat in his wrist, which he held. It felt like the beating wings of a bird. 

“What’s going on?” Roxas asked, eyes wide, his voice barely a whisper. 

“I don’t know,” he said. “But I need you to stay here, all right? Don’t leave this room until I come for you.”

“Axel…”

“No time to argue,” Axel said, leading Roxas to the bed. He managed a smile. “This wasn’t how I envisioned tonight going.”

“Nor I…” 

“Stay,” he said, pushing Roxas gently against the bed. The back of the small man’s knees hit the edge and he tumbled back, blond hair falling into his eyes as he looked up at his friend. 

“You said it was safe,” he whispered.

“And I’ll be sure it is,” Axel said, not wasting more time attempting to communicate, but turning from Roxas and crossing the room. He closed the door behind him, once again feeling the heaviness in the air of the hall. He thought, dimly as he stepped toward the king and queen’s chambers, that this felt terribly familiar, like a half-remembered dream. In that moment it seemed inevitable that tragedy had come to them, that it had all been experienced before.

It was almost not a surprise, to open the door to the royal room and be greeted with the stench of recent death. It hit him first in the stomach, a slam like a punch as the different layers struck. Fear, palpable beneath the acrid smell of blood, offal, and human excrement. He stared at the bed, at the mangled corpse of the queen. On the floor, feet from the expansive bed, lay the king. Blood still gurgled from the wound in his throat, his hand outstretched and grasping at the boot of the man with blood on his hands. 

There was no time to register details about the assassin. Axel’s body blurred to motion without thinking. He was unarmed, but in that moment it didn’t matter. Duty did, and the fury that rose in him turned his world to shades of red and black, a flame that ate at him from within as he met the assailant. 

They clashed. Axel felt the white-hot bite of the blade in his forearm as he lifted it to catch a downward blow. He wrenched to the side, grasping the pain and it galvanizing within him the spirit that had seen him through so many battles. This one was no different. In that moment they were not two men struggling over the corpses of the king and queen of the realm. They were outside of time and space, with nothing but the pain and the blood and the struggle. 

His twist caught the assassin off guard, and Axel’s other hand slammed down on the man’s forearm. It drove the blade deeper into the flesh of his arm, but he heard the crunching break he’d wanted. The man grunted, not quite a shout, as Axel threw himself forward, wrenching for control of the blade. 

They tumbled, fell to the stone floor with a bone rattling crash. Axel’s teeth snapped together, and he tasted blood, metallic and hot. He struggled with the man, their hands flashing, grasping for purchase on skin. Axel felt fingers dip into his red hair, grasping a handful of it and ripping at the strands. He grit his teeth harder against the new flare of pain, finding the hilt of the blade as he did. 

The fight was over in less than thirty seconds, as most close quarters struggles were. Axel plunged the knife between the ribs of the man, twisting it as he pushed deeper, angling the blade toward the man’s heart. It was hard, to push through the muscle and the bone and the life, to end breath and still the tumult. 

His breath came in short little gasps, his heart pounding with exhilaration and triumph. In that moment he had forgotten about the king and queen, about even Roxas. He knew only the allure of the fight, the biting pain. He felt blood coursing hot down his arm, pooling in his palm as he gazed at the man beneath him. The assassin was unknown to him, a man of nondescript features. He could have come from anywhere or nowhere. The only clear thing was that he was Enemy, and had dealt a potentially crippling blow to a nation who had all but assured itself victory. 

“… Axel.”

Roxas’s voice from the doorway was quiet, small. The playful drunkenness gone from it. Axel didn’t have to turn to know his prince’s eyes would be on his parents, the corpses still cooling, his father still twitching in the last electrical moments of existence. Axel didn’t want to see those wide blue eyes focused on something so obscene, something he had long sought to keep as far from Roxas as possible. He climbed to his feet, leaving the blade still wedged in the dead man’s chest. The blood was still dripping from his arm, off his fingertips and onto the ground. 

“Gods, you’re hurt,” Roxas said, staggering into the room, both from drink and from shock. He froze at Axel’s side, staring at his arm. The sleeve of his shirt was in tatters, soaked with scarlet. “Axel…”

“We don’t know if he was alone,” Axel said, turning to Roxas, whose gaze drifted down to his father and froze. Axel reached for him, wondering whose blood it was that smeared Roxas’s chin as he turned his gaze up to meet his own. “We need to go. I have to get you somewhere I know you’re safe.”

“It was supposed to be safe here,” Roxas said, almost petulant in his confusion. 

“You’re right, it was,” he said. “I have men quartered here, they’ll keep you safe while I work through who did this.”

Roxas’s eyes shifted down to the corpse of the man who had killed his parents, and Axel felt him stiffen. The reality of a violent death hung heavy in the room, and Roxas tore himself from Axel with more force than Axel would have thought possible. He tried to turn, made it one faltering step away from the scene before he fell to his knees, retching onto the expensive rug which softened the stone. A stream of ale and their dinner came up, passing his lips in an uncontrollable wave. There was nothing Axel could do but watch, the keen edge of battle fury fading and leaving him with nothing but hollow pain. He felt alive most when he fought not to lose his life, and the moments after always left him feeling sick and empty, a husk of a person. He had no comfort to offer his prince, could do nothing but stare as Roxas was sick, as his body arched with the intensity of his emotional response to what he had seen. 

It wasn’t until Roxas stopped that Axel was able to approach him. He knelt, seeing Roxas’s hands shaking against the floor, his eyes squeezed tight. The blood on his chin stood out bright against pale skin, and his cheeks were wet with tears. 

“Come with me,” Axel said, and Roxas nodded, numb. 

What else could he do?  
  
  
  
  


_shuffle_

Roxas stood on his balcony, his hair swept back from his face, his forearms resting on the stone. In his hands he held the crown he’d always known he would one day wear, though that it should come so soon had never occurred to him. The castle around him was thrown into mourning, and he watched with dismay as his fingers trembled against the gold and jewels. 

“This isn’t who I am,” he whispered, having heard the soft footfalls of his closest friend. 

Axel stood ready for battle, his wounded arm stitched and hidden now beneath metal armor. He did not hold a crown, but a helmet, and his red cloak caught in the wind to dance behind him. Much had passed between the pair in recent days, and their relationship had changed in a somber way. Gone, at least for now, was the laughter and the drink. The carefree touches filled with the promise of fire. 

“It has always been who you are,” Axel said, watching Roxas’s back. “It’s destiny, come to claim us. Remember that.”

“It’s not the destiny I wanted,” Roxas said. “Not even close.”

“And yet, it is what we were given,” he said. “You’ve taken my advice, I hope, about riding into battle.”

“And been advised against it by others than you,” Roxas said. “There’s no heir, but me. If I were to fall… The realm is already in chaos. When the news of my parent’s assassination reaches the most distant lands…”

“They will follow you, or they will die,” Axel said. 

“I don’t want anyone else to die,” Roxas said. “I know that’s naïve but…”

“It’s not naïve,” Axel said, stepping forward, lightly touching Roxas’s shoulder. The younger man’s shoulders hitched for a moment, and Axel pretended he didn’t know he was crying, soft and sad and without fanfare. 

“When do you leave?” Roxas asked, his voice thick.

“At dawn,” Axel said. “I’m leaving behind my most competent men. You’ll be safe. Guarded to the point of annoyance I’m sure, but safe.”

“You’ll be back?”

“I promise,” Axel said. “I imagine by the time I return you’ll have been wed.” He laughed, quiet but without mirth. “I always knew that was the inevitable outcome but…”

He would have said more, might have put voice to sentiment long bubbling between them. But before he could Roxas had turned and thrown his arms around his friend. He held him close, despite the bite of the armor, despite the awkwardness of holding onto crown and helmet. He pressed his face against the cold metal which would serve as protection from sword and arrow, leaving warm tears to slide over the smooth surface. 

“I don’t want to think about such a thing,” he whispered. “I know I have to but I don’t want to. Just… Come back to me. I command it, as your king.”

Axel smiled, sad as he allowed his arms to engulf the smaller man. 

“I promise,” he whispered, and had Roxas dared to look up, he’d have seen tears glittering in the green of Axel’s eyes.  
  
  
  
  


_shuffle_

War, Roxas learned, was not a thing to which one could grow accustomed. He watched the violence grow worse from the safety of the castle, hating himself for it even as he acknowledged the need. The risk to the kingdom was too great to allow him a more direct approach. And so he fought through proxies, his generals and trusted elites on the field. He awoke each day hoping for news of success, and hoping for letters from Axel. The worry for him seemed to be eating him alive, even as he was ushered forward into exactly the engagement which Axel had so maligned. 

Marriage was the farthest thing from Roxas’s mind and heart, yet he did not fight it when his advisor began to suggest it. Seeing the young king wed to a beautiful girl would bolster the spirits of not only the fighting men, but those weathering the violence of war. Give the people a love story, something to rally behind. It was a sacrifice made by countless before him, and yet Roxas felt it eating away at the strength of his heart. How could he go to the warm bed and embrace of another, when his heart fought with Axel, on the bloody field?

What did it mean, he thought, to betray your own emotions for the sake of others? And was he strong enough to go through with that?

The truth, he told himself, was that there was no make believe future where he and Axel could experience the joys of days gone by. They could share drink again, when the war was over, but circumstances would always be different. Roxas was king now, and that crown weighed heavy on a head too young yet to bear it. There would always be that burden, always be a newfound gulf between them that Roxas was unsure even love could bridge between. 

He cried himself to sleep, every night, curled in his bed and clutching his blankets around him. By morning he was hollow eyed and at least visibly strong enough to do what was expected of him. For how long, he did not know. As long as the war persisted. As long as he had to. As long as he had Axel to write to him from afar, to lend him light when he was so mired in the dark.

Roxas lived for those letters, with flippant praise of his soldiers’ abilities and the gallant narrative which only Axel could spin. If Axel were ever afraid, it didn’t come through in those letters, and Roxas alone was able to read between the spaces in the words and sentences. They were love letters, peppered with nuance the same way their lives had always been. How had he gone so long without realizing what was so obvious? 

The war stretched, with successes and defeats. Men were lost to both sides, and as time passed Roxas grew more and more anxious. Axel wrote to him of an upcoming battle at Hollow Bastion. The armies of the North had finally marched to that pivotal keep. There would be no letters for a while, Axel wrote, but worry not. Axel’s men were the best in the realm, and with Axel to ride at their front they were impossible to defeat. Don't forget it, he wrote, and Roxas smiled.

As only he knew how to do, however, Roxas saw the fear behind the bravado, and he silently wished he had gods to whom he could pray. He would gladly beg any number of heavenly host to keep Axel safe. But he went to bed at night with nothing but his tears and his heart’s desire. 

Hollow Bastion held. News of the success reached the castle within a days time, on the wings of a crow with poisonous news to spread like the sickness that plagued his people. Axel had been injured in the battle, grievous. His second in command wrote that Axel had asked for the king. Begged him to stay where he was safe, where he could be protected. 

Roxas rode in the dead of the night. There were secret passageways in the castle that Axel’s guard did not know about. Roxas kept to them and wound his way to the stables. None were awake in the castle, save the guards meant to protect the king, but the king had other notions and desires. He led his finest horse out by the reigns, petting her soft nose every time she lifted her head perhaps to wicker at a shadow or to otherwise potentially raise an alarm. He did not mount her until the castle had already begun to fade in view, and when he did, he rode hard. 

It was irresponsible, he knew, and yet his heart told him it was the only choice he had. He could not know how badly Axel had been injured, but something screamed that he must make haste. His heart labored with the surety that he would be too late, that the days long journey would not afford him the time he needed. He pushed his horse to her limits, walking along ahead of her deep into the night, letting her rest without truly resting, falling asleep along the side of the road only when exhaustion offered no other alternative. 

Trumpets sounded as he approached Hollow Bastion, but there was no mistaking the king with the blond hair and the vibrant blue eyes. An outrider rode to him, on a beautiful black horse that made Roxas’s look like a yearling. 

“Your majesty!” The man said, reigning up. “We received word you had left the castle. Yet we did not believe you would come all this way.”

“Is Axel alive?” Roxas asked, cutting through the bullshit of pretense, his blue eyes exhausted but burning. 

“He…”

“Yes or no!” 

“Yes,” the man said. “Though our healers say they have done all they can.”

“Take me to him, don’t make me say it twice.”  
  
  
  
  


_final shuffle_

The room reeked of death. It was a heavy scent, one that took Roxas back months and months to his parent’s room. It was a physical presence in the space, where candles burned low and the fire was all but out. He shivered in the chill air, frozen in the doorway and too afraid to move forward. For a moment, he wished against all he knew to be true that remaining there could hold the moment to infinity. He didn’t want to think about that smell coming from Axel. 

The form lying in the bed shuddered, coughed. It was a wet sound, full of agony. It forced Roxas forward, to the bed, where he fell at its side. His hand sought the familiar grip of Axel’s, found his flesh fever-hot, burning up. 

“… Roxas?” Axel whispered, eyelids fluttering open to reveal green eyes that were bright and alive despite every indication from reality. There was no way someone with so much fire in his eyes could truly be on death’s door. Roxas’s mind screamed it even as his heart whimpered the truth. 

“Shh, I’m here,” he said, holding Axel’s hand as tears rose in his eyes. 

“Hey now, don’t do that,” Axel said, coughing as he spoke. “I knew you’d come. I … Wanted to write but… I’m kind of busted up.”

“No, no you’re okay,” Roxas said, again pulling a laugh from his dying friend. 

“Don’t lie to me. Not now, not after everything, okay?” He closed his eyes for a moment, his chest rattling when he pulled in a breath. Roxas risked a glance, saw bloodstained bandages that dipped below the blankets. 

“I’m so sorry, Axel… I should have been here.”

“Nothing you could have done,” Axel whispered, forcing his eyes open again, locking them on Roxas’s. “Don’t cry, my lord. Not over me.”

Roxas shook his head, but he felt the tears stinging hot at the back of his throat, saw the way they blurred Axel’s form. He didn’t want that, wanted to see him clearly but also not at all. Because to see him in such a state was to know the most acute pain he could imagine. 

“I won’t,” Roxas said, blinking them back. “The battle was days ago. You’ve held on this long. You can pull through this, okay?”

Axel shook his head, red hair falling into his face for Roxas to gently push away. His hand stayed on Axel’s cheek, his touch feather light. 

“Only managed this because I knew you’d come to me,” Axel whispered, their eyes locked. “I wanted, to make a promise. That… That next time things will be different. We won’t waste so much time, right?”

“It was never wasted time,” Roxas whispered, but Axel shook his head. 

“You know, what I mean,” he whispered. “Don’t… Don’t forget me?”

“Never,” Roxas said, shaking his head. “How could I? Axel, never.”

“Good,” he closed his eyes again, took another deep and painful breath. “I’ll always remember, too…”

Roxas leaned forward, mindless of the guard at the door, the outrider who had led him to Axel’s side. Rumors be damned, he thought, as he pressed his lips against Axel’s. He felt his friend’s lips curl into a smile, and then felt him relax. Axel breathed out his last breath, and Roxas breathed it in. 

“… Until next time,” Roxas whispered, and let go of his resolve against tears.

**Author's Note:**

> Writers are needy. If you enjoyed this, please let me know in the comments. Concrit is always welcome!


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